Chapter Text
Alayne Stone wakes from her sleep. The sky outside her windows is dark still, as dark as the ashes in her dreams.
She dreamt of Winterfell, the home of a little bird whom she could no longer relate to. A past life, it seemed. She is Alayne Stone now, the bastard daughter of the Lord Protector of the Vale.
In her dreams she was happy. She recalled the smiles of her long lost siblings. It came to her as a shock that she could not remember their faces. Everything seems to be a blur. It has been a while since she last wept for them. They mean nothing more than names to her now. Alayne does not weep. She has no siblings.
Alayne turns in her bed, thinking about Winterfell, with the fire burning and the little children screaming in their beds. Nor was Alayne or the little bird present when Winterfell burnt. But it all seemed so vivid. She could smell the smoke and feel the heat. The darken bodies of two children haunted her. It was the smell of burnt flesh that woke her.
Alayne touches her cheek. It is wet with tears. She quickly wipes them away and closes her eyes.
Alayne does not weep.
***************
Morning comes as an unwanted guest. A ray of sunshine wakes Alayne when one of her handmaids opens the curtains.
"Lord Baelish requires your presence, m'lady," said Claire, while putting a basin of warm water beside her bed. Claire is a Stone, just like Alayne. The other handmaids call her Claire the Cold, it is not hard to guess why. Alayne holds her suspicion that Claire envies her, for it is not common for a bastard girl to rise so high as to the Lady of the Vale.
"Father can wait," Alayne replies, with a lazy yawn. Petyr has taught her well. It is important to remind everyone she is just a bastard, one without the manners and willingness of a highborn lady.
Claire's lips twitch in disbelief. It is subtle but still noticeable. "I think it is urgent," then she quickly adds, "m'lady," after remembering it is the Lady of the Vale she is talking to.
Alayne finds annoyance and defiance in her tone. Suppressing her urge to laugh, she slides off her bed and put on her morning gown.
"Alright then, take me to my father."
***************
"Father, you wish to see me?" She enters and closes the door behind her. Although it is still early in the morning, Petyr is already working on plans and schemes behind a pile of books and letters.
"Aye, daughter," he looks up, with a smile on his face, his always mocking face. "I hope you slept well."
Courtesies and courtesies. Alayne wonders who he is truly behind his mask. Petyr Baelish has been nothing but kind to her, even back in King's Landing where spiders and lions roam. But still, Alayne knows Littlefinger does not display kindness unless he is certain he gets his reward afterwards. This man promises her Winterfell, but what is it that he wants?
"Yes, father," Alayne said, "I had a very sweet dream." A lie, but it does not really matter whether Alayne sleeps well or not. Littlerfinger does not give a damn, she has decided.
Petyr sets his eyes on hers, grey and green and betraying nothing. A slight pause and he gives her a warm and fatherly smile.
"I am pleased," he stands up and kisses her on the cheek, his beard scratching her face. "There is nothing more reassuring for a father than to hear her daughter is well and happy." He mutters. His lips linger on her face and his hands slowly rising up to her shoulders.
Alayne giggles and pushes him away, all seemingly like a child's act.
Something flickers across his eyes. But if he is displeased about his daughter's behaviours, he does not show.
"My darling child, I have some good news for you." He says cheerfully, as if nothing happened. " I have made a marriage proposal between you and Harrold Harryn, the heir to Eyrie should any..." He licks his lips, "misfortune happens to our Sweetrobin."
Alayne blinks blankly, it would be a lie if she says she is not shocked. "But-- but I--"
"There is no 'but', sweetling," Petyr smirks, clearly enjoying her reactions. "Trust me, a father does not provide anything for his daughter if it is not the best for her." He once again puts his hands on her shoulders, and she does not fight this time. " Now, does this not deserve a kiss?" He whispers in her ear, as his hands lifts her chin up. She looks him in his eyes, and sees eagerness and...something else that she cannot read.
"Yes father," she says softly, surrendering herself.
"That's a good girl." He kisses her on her mouth, filling her with his minty breath.